Courier Six
by Knightcrash
Summary: It was supposed to just be a simple delivery job. That was before he was ambushed, beaten and shot in the head. Now, with amnesia, Six is looking for answers and revenge, but he may get caught up in a battle for the entire Mojave. (This is my first fanfiction so please bear with me. Will eventually cover all DLC, especially Lonesome Road.
1. Prolouge

Prologue

War, War Never Changes

War, war never changes…

Since the dawn of time, humanity has been plagued by its' own nature. Sorrow and bitterness have clouded mans' judgment. When man discovered the killing power of rock and bone, people have killed each other in the name of everything from differences, religion and just psychotic rage. Ever since that moment, man has been evolving their weapons to be able to kill quicker and more efficiently. Man discovered how destructive it really could be when the first Atomic bombs dropped.

In the year of 2077, man could withstand itself no longer. Warfare and nuclear warheads plunged the earth into atomic fire. This wasn't, as many had predicted, the end of the world. It was just the beginning of another bloody chapter of humanity. The light of humanity is not so easily put out and a flicker remained. Many people survived the horrors of the wastes in hidden underground Vaults. When the doors of these Vaults opened, the inhabitants had only the hell of the wastes to greet them.

Over time, they formed tribes and villages. Humanity began to rebuild. To the West coast of California, a new government was formed called the New California Republic. The Republic followed the old world and what it stood for. The NCR has grown from a tiny town to a nation. To the East of the Colorado River, is another nation, formed under a different flag, formed of slaves and conquered tribes called Caesar's Legion. Throughout this, the Strip has been open for business, ruled by its mysterious overlord, Mr. House and his army of Secutritron robots and rehabilitated tribals.

Four years ago, these two nations clashed at the Hoover Dam, and the NCR held the Dam, just barely. The Legion retreated back to their side of the river, biding their time and waiting for the chance to take the dam.

A Courier was hired by the Mojave Express to deliver a package to the New Vegas Strip. What seemed like an easy delivery has quickly taken a turn for the worse.


	2. Ghost Town Gunfight

Ghost Town Gunfight

I woke with a start, my vision blurred for a moment. My eyes darted over to a figure that was sitting in a chair.

"Whoa! Easy now, easy. You've been out cold a couple a days now. There's no rush, just take your time to get your bearings,"

"What happened?" I groaned as I struggled to sit up.

"The metal feller, Victor hauled you in here, oh, 'bout a week ago,"

"Victor?"

"What's your name? Can you tell me your name," the man ignored or didn't hear my question. He was tanned and looked to be in his mid-fifties. Below his nose was a furry white moustache.

I thought and found a blank. _What's my name? Oh my God! I can't remember my name!_

I did some quick thinking and thought back to my job. I was the sixth courier hired… "Six,"

"I can't say that's what I'd a've named ya' but if that's your name, then that's your name. I hope you don't mind, but I had to go rootin' in yer noggin there to get all the bits of lead out a' there. I take pride in my needle work, but tell me if I left anything out," the man asked as he handed me an electronic device. I lifted it up to my face which reflected a slightly tanned face with unkempt dirty blonde hair slightly longer than I remembered. I looked to the right side of my face and saw two small, circular scars on it.

"Yeah, you got it," I murmured as I handed him back the electronic mirror.

"Ok let's see if you can walk. Take it slow now, as I said it's not a' race,"

I stood up and blurriness covered my vision. It slowly subsided as I slowly stumbled across the room and back.

"It's good that you can walk, but that don't mean that you aren't loopier than a Bighorner dropping. Follow me," the man said as he walked into a room to the right.

I followed him into the room which revealed a couch, chair and a board on a tripod with various pictures on them. After answering whether or not I agreed with certain things, and how I thought of some words and what a few pictures looked like he motioned towards the door.

"Good, now I guess I gotta turn ya' loose now. Here, this was all you had on you when you came in," the doctor sighed as he walked over to a shelf with some gear that looked familiar. "I also took a look at a note you had on you. Thought it might help me find a next of kin, but it was just something about a platinum chip,"

"Thanks doctor…"

"Mitchell," the man replied. "Here, this'll help you more than it'll help me," Doc Mitchell said as he handed me a wrist computer. "It's called a Pip-Boy; a 3000 model. I grew up in one've them Vaults built before the war and we all got one. I know what it's like… having someone taken from you…" Mitchell dropped off.

"Thanks, but where's my horse?" I asked the doctor as I strapped the Pip Boy 3000 to my arm.

"You own a horse? Victor didn't say nothing about no horse but I don't think it coulda' survived for three days without water unless ya' left it by the Goodsprings source. Also you might want to put yer clothes on so that the locals don't pick on you for lack of modesty,"

I looked down at my body and noticed I was only wearing my underwear. My face turned beat red as I quickly dashed to the bathroom with my gear in hand. When I returned, I had a plaid red shirt on with blue jeans, cowboy boots and a backpack slung over one shoulder. On my hip was a .45 Auto Pistol. I had picked it up from a caravan called the "Happy Trails" caravan company. They had come from Utah with a bunch of natural growing foodstuff as well as many .45 Auto Pistols and "Thanks again doc, but where am I?" I asked.

"Son, you're in the quaint little of town known as Goodsprings," Doc Mitchell replied as he slowly opened his front door.

The light blinded me, since my eyes had been closed for an entire week, along with the ten minutes I had been awake, my eyes had been in a dim house with tattered drapes over every window.

"Do you know about the man who shot me?" I questioned Mitchell.

"Can't say that I do, but you might wanna ask Victor or the folks around town,"

I sighed, frustrated about only a small lead to go on as I stepped out of Doc Mitchell's house and into the harsh Mojave sun. I walked down a path leading to the broken up tarmac road. By the time I reached the road I spotted a large, bulky robot coming my way. The robot was balanced on one wheel connected with its boxy chassis. Its arms looked like flexible pipes with a three "fingered" claw. On the chassis was a TV with a goofy looking picture of a cowboy with a handkerchief on his neck, a cowboy hat on his head and a cigarette poking out of his smirking computerized mouth.

"Well howdy partner! Might I say that you're looking fit as a fiddle!" the robots synthetic voice exclaimed, sounding surprisingly pleased for a robot.

"You're the 'Metal Feller' Doc Mitchell was talking about. Victor was it?"

"That's me! I'm a Securitron PDQ-88b. If ya' see any of my brothers, tell em' that Victor says hi," the robot replied.

"So, how did you find me?" I inquired.

"I was just out for a stroll when I saw some bad eggs up at the ol' bone orchard. I decided to stay low and wait for them to leave. I went up there to see if ya were still kicking, and sure enough you were, so I dug ya out and brought you to the good doctor," the robot explained.

"Was there a man with a checkered suit there?" I questioned.

"Yeah, there was a man who fits that description. He was with two Great Khans. They left town that night after a' couple a' drinks at the Prospector Saloon,"

"Thanks Victor," I acknowledged the robot and turned to the saloon.

"Happy trails," the robot called after me before he rolled away.

I opened the door to the saloon and the sound of static and pre-war music filled my ears along with arguing. I walked to the bar part of the saloon and spotted a man and a woman discussing something. The man had on a bullet proof vest over a blue shirt that read NCR boldly on it and in small print Correctional Facility.

"If you don't hand over Ringo soon, we're burning this place to the ground!" the man with the vest shouted.

"If you aren't gonna order anything than get out!" the woman replied.

The man's arm rammed into my shoulder as he stalked away, a sneer on his face.

"What was all that about?" I asked.

"It looks like our little town has gotten wrapped up in something we want nothing to be a part of. A few days ago, a man wandered into town saying he needed a place to lie low for a few days. Said bad men were after him, so we let him stay. We didn't actually think that anyone would come lookin'" the woman explained. "I'm Trudy, the owner of this here saloon,"

"What about your radio? What's wrong with it?" I asked.

"Oh, that old thing? Some Great Khans and a man in a checkered suit came through here not too long ago. They expected rounds on the house, but I eventually got them to cough up the caps, although, one of the Khans did 'accidentally' bumped into my radio and knocked it to the floor. All I get now is static or a few seconds of music. I like to keep up with what's happening out in the wastes, and that Mr. New Vegas sounds like such a gentleman,"

Do you know anything about the man in the checkered suit?"

"Well, I did overhear one of the Khans talking about headin' over to Vegas. If they wanted to get there, and avoid the Deathclaws that are all over the place, they would have to loop around the Mojave, goin' to Primm first," Trudy explained.

"Thanks, and I can solve both your radio and raider problem," I responded.

After ten minutes of poking around the inside of the radio I found that a wire had been knocked out of place. As soon as I plugged it back in, an older man's voice began blaring out of the radio.

"A courier reported shot in the head over by Goodsprings had made a full recovery. Now that's a delivery service you can count on,"

I quickly turned the nob down and screwed the back of the radio back into place.  
"Thank you so much! Now I can get the news from that charming Mr. New Vegas," Trudy thanked me. "I don't know how much repair jobs like this usually cost, but here're one hundred caps,"  
"Thanks. Now, where's this Ringo?"

About ten minutes later, I was standing outside of an ancient Poseidon Energy Gas Station. The signs were weathered and battered but the prices were still just barely visible.

Regular: 250.79

Diesel: 396.76

_Damn, things must have been bad before the war, with the inflating!_ I thought to myself as I inspected the sign.

I continued to the door but noticed something to the right under an overhang. A Pre-war truck was jammed into the wall, its front smashed. But on its bed were a few crates. I opened one of them to find a bunch of purified water, which I pocketed into my backpack. I opened another crate to discover an old Varmint Rifle with a sling on fastened onto the base of the barrel back to the beginning of the stock, along with a few clips for it. I slid a clip into the rifle and put the other clips into ammo pouches on my belt.

I slowly made my way to the door creaking it open slightly to get a look inside. The inside of the convenience store was a wreck with trash littering the floor and shelves on their side. In the corner, sitting on a box of Sunset Sarsaparilla, was a man, apparently Ringo.

"Hey!" I whispered as loudly as a whisper can be whispered.

Ringo jumped to his feet, tripping on a nearby box and plummeting face first into a crate. He leaped up, ignoring the bruise forming on his forehead, pistol in hand.

"That's close enough. Who are you, and what do you want with me?" Ringo exclaimed.

I'm not an enemy, if that's what you're asking," I replied, trying to calm him down.

"Sorry about the gun. You just caught me by surprise, that's all," Ringo apologized as he holstered his 9mm Pistol. "We got off to a bad start. What say we start over with a friendly game of caravan? You know how to play?" Ringo asked.

"Did you know there's a man named Joe Cobb looking for you?" I ignored his request.

"Yeah, he doesn't look very tough though. I hear he's afraid I'll shoot him down from one of the windows when I see him and he's right. I'll have a much bigger problem once his friends show up. There's no way I could handle them all in a gunfight,"

"What are you going to do about the Powder Gangers?" I queried.

"I'm gonna lay low as long as I can, assuming the town doesn't hand me to the wolves. I've got no chance against the gang on my own," Ringo explained his grim situation.

"Well, you're in luck 'cause I'm here to help you with Joe Cobb and his goons," I told Ringo.

"I can't pay you. Sorry but all my money was stolen by the Powder Gangers,"

"That's not a problem. The towns also at stake, if they get you, then they'll turn their attention to the town. Goodsprings wouldn't be ready for a surprise, and even if they did win, the casualties would mean the death of the town," I replied.

_ Why am I getting involved in this! I've gotta find the man who shot me; not get involved in a bunch of other people's problems. Ringo can't pay me and the town probably is just barely getting by. _I thought to myself.

Well, if you're serious about this, we should get some of the townsfolk to help. If it were just you and me, we'd just be walkin' to our graves. Sunny Smiles has been real nice to me, maybe she'd help us out," Ringo recommended.

"Gotcha'; I'll start with Sunny then," I replied. "But what type of name is Sunny Smiles?" I asked myself.

"Well, thanks again for helpin' me. Sorry I can't pay you, but once this is all over, you can go to the Crimson Caravan Company and they'll pay ya',"

"Well, I guess I can wait to get paid," I replied.

_No! Why do you always do this! "Oh, it's ok, I don't need a reward, I just wanna help,"_ I thought to myself as I walked back to town.

A few minutes later I had gotten to saloon and found Sunny Smiles in the back, a Sunset Sarsaparilla in her hand and a dog lying on the floor next to her. She looked no older than seventeen, but I needed all the help I could get.

The dog shot up as I entered and growled a threat.

"Cheyanne, stay. Don't worry, she won't bite unless I tell 'er to," the woman said.

"You must be the feller' that Doc dug out a few days back, right? What do you need?" Sunny asked.

"Uh, I talked to Ringo about protecting the town against the Powder Gangers and he said I should talk to you," I explained.

"Ok, I'm in," Sunny stated.

"You'd join us just like that? We could die horrible deaths you know; except me," I joked.

Yeah, I know those Powder Gangers wouldn't just leave us alone if we handed over Ringo. They'd just come right back sooner or later. Also, if you're thinking about recruiting anyone else for this little militia of yours, I'd keep your opinion to yourself," Sunny advised.

"So, do you know where I could get some additional help?"

"Well, if you wanted to get more people involved, I'd suggest talkin' to Trudy. She's kinda' like the town mom so if you convinced her that this is a good idea, a lotta' people would help out. Chet over by the general store also has some weapons and armor that could seriously help us, but I doubt he would part with them unless you come up with a good reason. Along with that, Easy Pete, the man in front of saloon has a stash of dynamite that could help us, but you'd have to convince him you had the know-how to use it properly. By the end of the day, we'll all probably have a few holes in us, so I'd be good if we got Doc Mitchell to spare a few stimpaks," Sunny suggested.

"Ok, so Trudy, Easy Pete, Chet and Mitchell could help us out, gotcha," I repeated as I walked towards the saloon counter.

It only took about thirty minutes to convince Trudy, Pete, Chet and Mitchell to help out in the Militia. I had also headed over to the Goodsprings Source and retrieved my horse, which was now tied up on a post of the saloon. Everyone had gathered outside the Prospector's Saloon and general store waiting for the Powder Gangers to show up again.

I unstrung my horse; Savanah and had climbed onto her. I rode to the east of the town and looped to the south. Once I was in position, I unslung my Varmint Rifle and aimed towards the town. The townsfolk were lined up behind crates and makeshift barricades, ready for the Gangers. After a few minutes, six figures strolled into my view. One of them, who was probably Joe Cobb, walked slightly towards the townsfolk, and said something to them, which I couldn't hear because the distance and one of the townsfolk replied, most likely telling the man to piss off, which clearly upset him.

Cobb reached for his revolver on his hip, but I took the shot. I pulled the trigger and a bullet flew through the air. The shot hit the Goodsprings welcome sign and the man jumped back towards the ruins his allies were hiding. I pulled the bolt back on the Varmint Rifle and slid it back into place, loading another 5.56 round. I slid the rifle onto my shoulder and took my .45 out of its holster and spurred Savannah, causing her to gallop forwards.

Shots rang out as well as explosions as the townsfolk fended off the onslaught of the Powder Gangers. The town appeared to be losing, a few of the townies had been injured and were taking cover, but none had been killed, while the Powder Gangers had only one wounded and were peppering the town with bullets and explosions from some dynamite and some makeshift explosives.

Savannah leaped over a broken wall and landed in the midst of the Powder Gangers. The Gangers were dumbfounded at the idea of a surprise attack, let alone the strange beast none of them had ever seen before. I popped off three shots from my .45 at one of the Powder Gangers, killing him. I swiveled around and shot off two more shots at a Ganger, hitting him in the chest and throat, spraying blood out of the wound. The death of two of their allies brought the Powder Gangers back to their senses, but I had already ridden behind the town's makeshift barricade. An explosion rang out, causing the remaining Powder Gangers to go flying; crimson soaring through the air.

As the Goodsprings settlers congratulating each other, Joe Cobb stumbled out of the carnage of his dead Powder Gangers.

"I'm gonnsha kilsh sha if itsh sha lasht shing I do!" Joe slurred; his mouth swollen and bloody.

Joe raised his revolver to Ringo and pulled the trigger. I flew off Savannah and tackled Ringo out of the way. Dust kicked up as we landed and I heard the click of a revolver hammer being pulled back. I whipped the .45 out of its holster and shot.

"Aaaargah!" Cobb screamed as he dropped his revolver and clutched his bleeding hand. Two of his fingers on his right hand were gone and another was hanging by a small string of sinew.

Ringo and I both walked up to Cobb, who now was on his knees, screaming bloody murder as he tried to stop the bleeding. Ringo raised his 9 millimeter pistol to Cobb's head, resting it on his glabella.

"Joe Cobb; you are accused of massacring a caravan belonging to the Crimson Caravan Company. What say you in your defense?" Ringo asked.

"Go to hell you son of a-," was all Cobb managed to say before he lay still.

Sunny, Ringo and I all sat in the saloon with a drink in hand. I took a swig of my beer before asking Ringo a question. "Do you really think it's a good idea to leave him alive?" I questioned Ringo as I motioned to Joe Cobb's unconscious body. His fingers had been sewed back on by Doc Mitchell and a Stimpak had been used to insure they stayed on properly

"Eh, it'd be better on my conscious if I'd let 'em live. Besides, the NCR'll has a few troops stationed over in Sloan, which is only a mile or two away so I'll let the law sort 'em out," Ringo replied before taking a swig of scotch.

"Well, at least we won't have to deal with those Powder Gangers anymore, so that's a plus for the town anyways," Sunny added.

"Sunny, I've been talking to a few of the townsfolk, and all of them claim you're the best shot of the town. But how old are you? You can't be older than seven or eighteen," I asked.

"Well, I am flattered. I'm actually twenty four, but since we're ask'in, how old are you lot?" Sunny countered.

"Twenty three," Ringo replied.

"Twenty seven," I answered.

"Hah! I'm olda' than ya' Ringo!" Sunny hollered.

"Well, I need to get going. I'm not gonna catch that checkered suit asshole just sitting around drinking," I announced as I stood up from the table.

"Hey, uh, if you don't mind me ask'in'… would'cha mind if I came with you? I mean, if you're going that way." Ringo asked as he stood up himself.

"Sure, but I can't promise I'll keep goin' that way if I get a lead somewhere else," I replied.

"That ain't no problem. I ain't holdin' you to nothing," Ringo answered.

"Well, it's been a pleasure Ringo and… wait, I don't even know your name," Sunny laughed.

"I don't either. I can't remember much about my life before I got shot. Just call me Six," I replied.

"Ok then. Thanks Six," Sunny thanked me.

"Why don't you come with us? We could use a crack shot like you, and Cheyanne would be more than welcome," I coerced Sunny.

"I dunno. I've lived here my entire life. I'm sorry, but I gotta stay here. Goodsprings has been my home for ever since I can remember," Sunny replied.

"Don't let that stop you. Go out and live your life, the town can take care of itself Sunny," Trudy butted in.

"Are you sure Trudy?" Sunny asked.

"Yes, carve your own destiny Sun. Only you can decide what to do with your life. Do what you want, don't let us drag you down," Trudy reassured Sunny.

"Ok then, count me and Cheyanne in!" Sunny exclaimed. We all decided it would be best to wait the night in the town and stayed at Sunny's place. Ringo took the guest bedroom and I the couch. As I lay there, I held a book in my hands. It was the first of a few books which I had found in my backpack, all which had logs of what happened that day. I began reading my own words, causing some memories to come back. I had remembered a few things like Savannah and how I looked, but the journal told me about me from the age of eleven, when my father had given me my first journal.

I also was disappointed to find that my mother had died when I was only seven by some 'Knights and Paladins' but I couldn't make sense of who they were.

I woke up the next morning with the book on my chest and my left arm dangling over the edge of the couch. I got up and walked to the kitchen to find Sunny ironically making sunny side up out of some Nightstalker eggs. Nightstalkers were half rattlesnake and half coyote, probably the result of radiation from the bombs and they had nests all over the Mojave Wasteland.

"Well howdy!" Sunny greeted me. "Ringo's gone down to the store to get some milk for breakfast, but he'll be back in a few,"

"Ok, but approximately how long 'till we're all ready?"

"After breakfast, we'll be ready to get on the road,"

"Good. I'm gonna go down to the store and stock up on supplies," I said as I walked towards the door.

"Don't take too long or your food'll get cold!" Sunny shouted over her shoulder as I walked out the door.

After a few minutes, I had stocked up on ammo for my .45, Ringo's 9 mm, and 5.56 rounds for mine and Sunny's Varmint Rifle as well as some food and water for the trip.

After a few minutes of hurried eating, we were walking down the broken up road that lead to Primm, the citizens of Goodsprings bidding us farewell. With high spirits the three of us braved the Mojave for the first time, none of us knowing that the journey that we set out on would change the Mojave forever.


End file.
